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by knightenchanted



Series: Trespasser and Beyond [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Post-Trespasser, a little angsty, mention of amputation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightenchanted/pseuds/knightenchanted
Summary: Following the events of the Exalted Council and her return to Skyhold, Evelyn struggles with the loss of her arm in the simple practice of tying up her hair. At Vivienne's suggestion, Evelyn decides it's time for a new look.





	

At age ten, Evelyn had decided that no child who believed themselves deserving of pity for their life in the Circles would ever survive it. As she shed her childish dependency in place of her self-reliant adolescence, so too did she decide her outer appearance must reflect her change in resolve. The first thing she changed was the way she presented her hair. She tied it back into a high ponytail to keep the majority of her hair from falling across her face and causing an unwanted distraction in the midst of focused study. Some stubborn strands remained to frame her face, but she admittedly liked the touch of elegance they added. The final look was practical, neat and less likely to be singed by a stray fireball. Apprentice Evelyn pushed away the loose tresses which flowed past her shoulders, and with it, the remainders of any delicacy expected of a young noble destined for the extravagance of court and politics. Extravagance had no place in the Circles.  

Not for the first time did Evelyn look back on her past decisions with some measure of regret at her younger self and her poor hindsight. Twenty years on, and Evelyn cursed her younger self for committing to a presentation that required considerably more effort when absent of a limb. The wounds from her encounter with Solas and the loss of her arm were still raw in the days following her decision to disband the Inquisition and her return to Skyhold.  Evelyn always prided herself in the independence her parents instilled into her at a young age, and her lost limb left her disappointed in herself for the inability to complete menial tasks. This manifested into an unpredictable and irrational annoyance when others offered to help her. They did not deserve her wrath, she knew, but her apologies felt empty of sincerity.   

A brush and hair tie sat on her vanity, having been fruitlessly used in an attempt to manage a ponytail for the better part of half an hour. Cullen had let her know he liked her hair down anyway, but the ritual of tying up her hair every morning was too comfortingly familiar and it provided an unexplainable illusion of confidence every time she stepped out of her quarters. The woman that stared back in the mirror, ash-brown waves falling to her breasts, resembled little of the former Inquisitor Trevelyan versed in the Game of masks as it did the fiercely determined Evelyn Trevelyan underneath. Even the scowl looked like it better fit a stranger.  

"Ev?" Cullen's voice swept into her room, a request for permission and question of concern all at once. Cullen had done his best to be supportive of her, but she knew there was a slight hesitance that preceded his words and actions, as if wary of startling a cornered animal. That hurt almost more than the pitiable looks she received at her missing arm. She needed some sense of normalcy and she did not want Cullen of all people to see her any differently than he had before.  

"It's your room too, Cullen, that's part of the agreement of being married, you know." Evelyn replied, though without the playful grin she normally accompanied with it. Cullen chuckled and she was glad he had the decency to laugh when her own didn't come so easily lately.  

He spied the hair tie on the table. "No luck?" 

"I managed to get it around my hair, but attempting to make that second loop -" she sighed in defeat. "Sometimes I wished I had the dexterity of a rogue. I wouldn’t be surprised if Varric could tie up his pony tail with one hand."  

Evelyn continued to stare at the mirror as the Cullen in the reflection moved behind her to place both hands on her shoulders. He rubbed the knot between her shoulder blades with his thumb, releasing the strain from her frustrated attempts of the last thirty minutes. She hummed in content. 

"Vivienne had an idea to style your hair - to make it easier to manage. She's willing to bring a stylist here, if you’d like.” 

 _A haircut._ Evelyn had worn her hair the same way for twenty years, and it never once occurred to her to change it. It was such a normal practice for nobility to change their hair to reflect the changing waves of fashion, but too long had she considered herself off the fringes of nobility to follow their trends.  Perhaps a haircut was what she needed, and it would certainly be a faster solution than improving her non-existent dexterity.  

"Tell Vivienne to send one in." 

*** 

"Pascal is a master of his trade, I demanded nothing but the best for you," said Vivienne, cupping her cheek and lifting her chin up ever so slightly to meet her gaze - a subtle encouragement to keep her head held high. The smile came to Evelyn genuinely.  

"And I expected nothing less from you," Evelyn replied warmly. "Thank you, Vivienne." 

Pascal was a thin gentleman from Orlais with an unusually quiet energy to him. Every glance at her hair was met with a weight of contemplation that was evidence of his commitment to his work.  

"And how would Your Worship like her hair styled?" Pascal inquired. 

"Shorter, I guess? Something I can maintain with one hand," Evelyn said, unsure of what she wanted herself. She had never imagined herself with her hair any different to how it had been for the last twenty years. She hoped Pascal was skilled enough to discern the rest.   

"Hmm, I can trim your hair similar to Madame de Fer's preference, but the cut would not suit your face as it does for her. Might I suggest something just clear of the shoulders? Elegant enough to retain that refined air you carry so well, but left flowing to reflect the freedom from the station you are no longer required to burden," Pascal suggested. The consideration towards her had Evelyn deciding that Vivienne had indeed chosen well.  

"That sounds wonderful to me. I leave myself in your capable hands." 

As Pascal examined her hair, Evelyn watched Vivienne and Cullen in the reflection of the mirror. Vivienne carefully scrutinised Pascal's hand on her hair, while concern never left Cullen’s amber eyes as they remain fixed on her own. She offered a small smile back at him in reassurance – for herself as much as him - and his attention on her eased.  

The delicate way Pascal ran his hand through her hair and the seamless transition between instruments left no room for doubt that he was an artisan of his field. When the scissors aligned with her hair in preparation for the first cut, Evelyn involuntarily held her breath. The first strands of brown locks fell to the floor, and with it, the finality of her new status in the world. A former heir of House Trevelyan. A former Circle mage. A former Inquisitor. A woman without title.  

Pascal worked with unwavering focus, and Evelyn was soon left surrounded by the evidence of her old self. The woman who stared back in the mirror, ash-brown hair parted just left of her midline and falling only so far as to caress the nape of her neck, looked unrecognisably like the Lady, Enchanter or Inquisitor Trevelyan. Yet Evelyn knew the figure in front of her to be herself, more so than the woman who had stared at the mirror with hollow grey eyes in the past few weeks. The grey was softer now, like ashes left after a raging forest fire, but the kindling of a spark survived.  

Evelyn ran her remaining hand through her hair. Some strands fell across her face, but she did not mind now. There was no need to push them away.  

Vivienne strode to Evelyn's side, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you pleased with your new look?" 

There was less of Evelyn physically. A left hand and forearm was removed surgically. Half her hair was scattered across her floor and what was left was shorter than it had ever been before. But  _she_ was not less. She bore thirty years of triumph and failure, of hope and despair, of loss and love. She was steel forged from tempered iron. She was more than she was yesterday, and she would be more tomorrow.  

"I am." 


End file.
